Remembrance and Rebirth
by ebon-drake
Summary: Allura reflects on her father's death, the crash-landing of the team on Arus, and what their arrival entails for the fate of her people. Set in same universe/timeline as most of my newer fanfics - that is, DoTU with some Go-Lion/DDP comic elements. Will potentially feature a Keith x Allura x Lance triangle. Contains adult language and themes.


**Disclaimer:** Voltron and its characters, settings, and storyline are copyrighted by World Event Productions, Ltd. and Toei Animation Company. DDP comic concepts and ideas are copyrighted by Devil's Due Publishing. Cover image is a screenshot from Purrsia's website, Voltron Central. References to areas of the Denubian Galaxy (i.e. Azure Quadrant, Onyx Star System, etc.) are from the map developed by Shannon Muir and sanctioned by WEP. All other names, places, characters, and plot bunnies are my own unless otherwise noted. I am in no way affiliated with the aforementioned companies. No monetary profit is being made from this work, and no copyright infringement is intended. Please do not do not re-post or reuse this work without obtaining my written permission first. Thank you.

**Author's Note: **I know that DoTU "origin" stories have been done to death, but I wanted to do an introspective piece around Allura and Alfor. Also, thank you, Drowningblonde, for your fabulous input on this story! My original intention for it was to be a short stand-alone, but I may expand on it. Anyways, everyone please let me know what you think of this and if I should continue it.

**Remembrance and Rebirth, Ch. 1**

Allura took a moment to brush a few wayward strands of her blonde hair behind an ear before picking up the two beers that she had momentarily set down on the small table she stood next to. Once satisfied that the curls, which had somehow managed to escape the tight confines of her chignon, were secure, she sighed and grasped the lukewarm bottles by their necks once more and continued on towards her destination.

At 19, she was technically not yet old enough to drink, but the old laws had ceased to hold much significance once the mecha Voltron had been dismembered and her homeworld razed 13 years ago. In light of the massacre and subsequent savagery her civilization had been reduced to, however, a little underage drinking seemed pretty minor by comparison.

The way was dark, but she could see where she was going thanks to the flickering flames from the crude torches that had been attached to makeshift sconces on the walls. The power had been knocked out long ago, and while a few generators remained, fuel was a precious commodity and fiercely rationed. The Castle of Lions was now a decayed ruin, its crumbling walls and towers hollow reminders of its former grandeur. Other landmarks, former bastions of Arusian culture and technology, had suffered a similar fate. Entire cities had been destroyed, and the refugees who could evade the slavers had all flooded like escaping vermin into the caves and tunnels that honeycombed the various landmasses of the planet.

She was almost there. The princess hastened her steps, which was easier now that she was in one of her pantsuits rather than one of her formal and ridiculously heavy gowns. She approached an old-fashioned wooden door set into the deteriorating wall and, after checking to make sure that no one had spotted her, unlocked it before pushing it open. It creaked loudly and flecks of green paint fell off on her hand as she withdrew it upon closing the door after her.

Allura found herself in one of the interior courtyards. With no one to care for it, nature had reclaimed the gardens of the space with a vengeance. Ivy and vines crept up the interior walls so thickly that she could scarcely see its crumbling brickwork, and tall wild grasses and weeds grew amidst some of the few remaining original flowering plants; the rest had been choked by the new growth that now converged on them, and so died. The air was still and the moons overhead were fat and full. It was a beautiful night out, and in this private wilderness, she could perhaps pretend for a moment that disaster had not befallen her planet.

She found a stone bench hidden behind the gnarled trunk of a dilapidated tree. She looked for a spot that was not decorated by bird droppings and sat down once she located one. The two bottles in her hand clinked on the stonework as she set them down next to her. Small labels were affixed to the brown glass, each one baring the name "Devakah Blue." They were from a brewery in Torela, one of the several independent underground settlements she, as well as Coran and her governess, had sheltered in for a brief while. She paused for a moment, and then used the side of the bench to remove the cap of one container.

The princess closed her eyes and inhaled through her nose as she brought the beer to her pursed lips. The fizzy bitterness filled her mouth and then traveled down her throat when she swallowed. She reopened her eyes and looked discontentedly down at the weedy earth at her feet. She did not normally make it a habit of eluding her caretakers and stealing out late at night, but tonight was a special night in particular.

It was the thirteenth anniversary of her father's death after he had been executed in the aftermath of the Battle of the Valley of Zohar. She had heard that he had fought valiantly with his troops against the onslaught of the Doom Empire, but the method of disposal Zarkon had used for his body had been particularly ignoble for a man of his caliber. His corpse had just been left in the dust for the insects to devour, and then everything had gone to hell after that.

While the Arusians had always been somewhat divided by their different cultures, the two factors that had ultimately united them all was Voltron and Alfor. Without its robotic sentinel or its High King, however, Arus had fallen in a matter of a few days. First Altair, then Helena, and then the rest of the kingdoms quickly followed suit. Without any solid form of government to hold things together and the planet now a desolate graveyard, the environment quickly became cutthroat - every man, woman, and child for themselves. After a time, however, the refugees eventually saw that they stood the greatest chance for survival if they banded together. By pooling resources and cooperating amongst themselves, these groups had been able to build the subterranean townships. Desperation gave birth to innovation, and small industries, such as the brewery that created the beer Allura was able to procure, were established and even able to thrive to a certain degree.

A modicum of normality was able to fall upon the blue planet despite its grim surroundings and now sparse population, but things were still a far cry from what they had been in Alfor's reign. Despite having the benefit of being somewhat more organized, the population of Arus as a whole remained severely fragmented. The settlements viewed each other with suspicion and elected leaders who had no qualms with doing what it took to survive. These leaders bore the titles of "Mayor" or "Elder," but were in truth often no better than bandits. They had their own purposes and motivations, and it was for this reason that the princess and her guardians could not stay at any one settlement for very long. Even if they were not outright hostile, there was no trusting anyone, even if they were kinsmen.

Against all odds, Coran was able to scrape together the resources needed during one of their stays and jerry-rig something together in order to get a distress call out to Galaxy Garrison. It was understood that the Alliance had its hands full with the expansionistic agenda of the Drule race and did not have the resources to aid every planet that was in distress, but Arus had something that other conquered worlds did not have; well, part of something. Voltron had been mortally wounded, but not utterly destroyed. The Lions had been forcibly separated and sent crashing back down to unknown locations on the planet's surface. Rumors had circulated about where they may have landed, but few knew of their exact locations, and attempts at salvage had been nigh impossible. While Zarkon had largely abandoned Arus now that he had gotten what he wanted from it, his troops still randomly patrolled the planet's surface; fortunately, they had not yet discovered the existence of most of the underground settlements.

Even if the Lions could not be easily accessed, they should still be out there, and maybe, just maybe, it would be possible to resurrect Voltron and take back Arus from the voracious grip of the Doom Empire. However, to do so, they needed the Alliance. The settlements were so suspicious of each other that there was almost no hope of them working in concert together, and there was no entering or exiting the planet, not with the blockade that had been set up around it. No, it would take the rebirth of the great mecha itself before her people became of one heart and one mind ever again.

Somehow, the distress call had gotten through, and fortunately, the lure of Voltron's broken body proved too great for Galaxy Garrison to ignore. They indicated that they would be sending an elite group of representatives in order to aid them in reobtaining the Lions, but that had been a few months ago. They had almost lost hope. Then, it was as if a miracle had happened.

Rumors circulated again, this time about five strangers who had crash-landed not too far from the ruins of the castle. They were Terran, but had landed in, of all things, a slave ship from Doom. Misgivings had immediately arisen, but they were still expecting the group from the Alliance, and being captured by Doom could explain the long wait since Galaxy Garrison had last communicated with them. If that were the case, then the fact that they had managed to escape their captivity and hijack a ship in order to escape that world of death spoke volumes of their courage and resourcefulness. All the same, it still could have been a trap; not all of Zarkon's agents were Drule, and their distress call could have easily been intercepted. If that had happened, then he would have found out that she had survived the culling of her family. This was a distinct possibility, but if the strangers were in fact who they said they were, then they would be refusing their very salvation if they turned them away.

Coran had received numerous reports from his ragtag network of spies that the Terrans were making their way towards the castle. In a flurry of activity, he had set up a trap so that their identities could be ascertained, and her governess had whisked her away in order to put her in her best dress. By the word "best," she had meant the least patched garment she had in her possession. She had been laced so tightly that she had to be cut out afterwards later on that night. Even if they were in dire straits, they could not look weak. She could not look weak. They had to give the impression that they were still strong, that they still stood upright despite being downtrodden, an underdog who just needed a little boost in order to get back what was rightfully theirs. Allura had not felt particularly prosperous; she had felt desperate, a threadbare princess with a virtually nonexistent court.

Once the identities of the strangers had been verified, they were allowed in. As they walked in through the entrance of the great hall, Allura had felt breathless when she descended the wide staircase, and not just because of how tightly her governess had laced her undergarment. They were five in number, and were undoubtedly as dirty and finely honed by difficulty as she, but standing there clutching the crude, makeshift weapons of her people, they had gleamed like heroes from a legend. Next to them, she had felt inferior and tawdry. Did they know what lengths she had had to stoop to in order to survive all this time? Did they see through the facade of her ragged finery to the opportunistic heart that beat beneath it? Did they think any less of her and her people for that?

If they had, they had given no sign. They stared at her with the same abject wonder that she had given them. They had dropped to their knees before her as if she were due their homage rather than their scorn. He had kissed her hand, the handsome brown-eyed, black-haired one, and for a moment, she had felt like one the queens of old from her dog-eared storybooks surrounded by her gallant knights rather than a beggar trying to obtain a handout from an galactic federation whose true purposes were known only to itself.

That had been three days ago.

They had been given what food and shelter could be provided them, but that was all, and the hunt for the Lions had begun in earnest. Zarkon's terrible gaze had surely turned back on Arus now that the team was here, and they needed Voltron now more than ever. Would she be able to be the person Arus needed in order to become what it was once more? She was a poor reflection of the person her father had been, and there was no doubt that if he were still alive he would be disappointed in just how much she had allowed his legacy to be tarnished, but she was all that remained of him, and she would do what needed to be done in order to save her people.

Allura bit her lip, and then turned to her side so that she could grab the second bottle of Devakah Blue. She opened it in the same manner as she had the first and momentarily stared past its semi-translucent glass and to the liquid inside. Although she was determined, she did know quite what to do, and though Coran was a wonderful teacher, she wished for a moment that her father were still here. He would surely know what to do. He would surely have thought of something long ago to rally the people of Arus from the unruly mob it had become into a unified force capable of resurrecting Voltron and taking Arus back again.

"Father, please help me," she whispered in the darkness, knowing fully well that silence was the only response she was going to get.

She did not honestly know what he would think of her were he still alive. Would he have found pride in the woman she had become, or would he be bitterly disappointed? She felt so different from when she was six. Would he even recognize her? She honestly did not know, and she supposed that her questions had no merit - he was dead, and unless she did something, then everyone else would be as well. They would find the Lions, they had to.

"I hope I will make you proud," she said aloud.

She took the bottle and tipped it over so that the beer inside began to spill out onto the earth of the courtyard.

"I will honor your memory" she vowed quietly, the liquid pooling and then disappearing into the dirt, "Your sacrifice will not have been made in vain. I will save us."

Her voice was filled with a sad longing, as well as a hollow confidence that sounded far greater than what she was truly feeling at that moment. When all of the beer had been poured out, she brought the container back towards herself and stared at the earth as it absorbed the last of the liquid.

She bowed her head slightly and uttered, "Rest in peace, Father."

After a minute or so, she rose back up and looked around the abandoned courtyard for a moment. She would do what she said, somehow. She would see this space restored to its former glory. Voltron would rise again and Arus with it, and Zarkon would pay for his trespasses against its people and the house of Leonaire. Setting her delicate jaw at a stubborn angle, she stood from the bench and collected the two empty bottles and their caps before proceeding to walk in silence towards the entrance of the courtyard.

She had to trust that when they finally found the Lions that they would not be so damaged that they were inoperable. If Voltron could not be brought back from the dead, then there was no hope for Arus against the evil of Zarkon's rule. The likelihood that the Lions remained whole, if they were found at all, was slim, but she could not relinquish her hope, for it was the only thing she had left to sustain her.


End file.
